By Kim Sandstrom
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One day at the gym...
"How are you? he asked.
And I told him anyway....
"It has been a rough 3 weeks."
He gulped as he remembered what he had forgotten about me when he asked the "loaded question".
He had forgotten that mothers who lose a child, never have a "normal" day,
never, ever again.
I saw him swallow hard,
ignored the "uh oh" look on his face and sputtered my reply.
"I have cried
more than "normal",
and slept less than "normal"
and "acted out" in ways that are not fit to talk about."
And though he didn't grasp the sound of truth in my voice:
(my words came out dry, scratchy, hoarse...
just minutes before arriving
at the gym,
I had screamed and fought with God about the unchangeable past.
I said "NO!"
"no, no. no....no no no no...
"I want her back!"
So the poor man at the gym,
asked this question
at the wrong time,
I finished my exercise in truthfulness and after speaking together a little more,
about my girl,
and what it means to be her mother now that she is gone.
(We talked so intensely,
that I was afraid I had worn him out so much he wouldn't be able to work out!)
The man and I agreed that I knew more about my subject and in that conciliation he lit a candle for my heavenly daughter.
He was gracious enough to allow for that...
So the wrong question at the wrong place and time came out alright.
And the man exercised his right to ask questions and think his thoughts
at the gym
and I exercised too,
at the gym....
more than "normal".
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